@baby-yongbok part 2

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They don't matter. He doesn't care. That's his problem. 

The mirror in the bathroom is slick with steam, the crystal of the fixtures above it are cloudy. Hyunjin finds his reflection in the metal of the shower door, broken into pieces. Jaw, mouth, collarbone—every part dissolving into something else he doesn't care to recognize.

He's detached, in a house that's more familiar than it should be, with people who don't require him to feel anything but euphoria. He's spoiled here. You and Chris spoil him. 

He rinses conditioner from his hair, hums and lets it bounce off the glass. Hyunjin moves slowly, deliberately, like time might stretch if he treats it gently. Dinner is in ten minutes. That means you’ll be seated, your husband beside you, wine already poured and the table set with the guest china. He's a guest here. Nothing permanent, nothing expected. A ghost who's welcome to haunt when he feels haunted. 

The water is scolding. He's used to it, likes it a little too much. He shuts it off before it can mark him, something he’s become a pro at. The muted clink of glass fills the space that the shower left behind. Chris’ voice carrying up the stairs, your laughter. The sounds slide under his skin but never settle. He towels off slowly, folds the towel over his shoulders, presses it to his hair, and just leaves it. He breathes—one, two, three. Wait, again. Three, four, five. That's good. He's good. 

He has a drawer here. Clothes you’ve bought him, some that Chris gave him like they were always meant to be his. Today, he wears something you picked for him. You said you thought of him when you saw it, said it reminded you of that one painting he did. Muted blue with petals that fade into dust. It waits on the counter, expensive tags embossed and untouched at the hem. He never pops the tags. He never believes that they're his, not really. Doesn't want to risk feeling attached. 

The shirt slides over his shoulders, the pants sit low on his waist, then Hyunjin pads down the warmly lit hall. Every footfall is measured like he wants you both to hear him coming.

“There he is.” you hum, leaned back in your chair like the wine is already working. “Your wine is getting warm.” Hyunjin brushes past your shoulder and takes the glass, sips slow. 

“We'll just have to pour him another glass then.” Chris smiles, easy and warm. A friend he knows near nothing about but smiles for anyway. “C'mon, dinner is ready.” Dishes clink, seats are taken, you serve while they watch. Chris’ hand settles low on your hip when you come around the table and Hyunjin takes it all in. Comfortable. 

“So,” Chris starts, picking up his fork, “let me guess, you and your girlfriend broke up.”

Hyunjin smiles, small and deceptively shy. “She wasn't my girlfriend.”

“Would she think that too?” You ask, smiling down at your plate. Hyunjin side eyes you. “That's a no.” The three of you laugh and the rest of the conversation follows easily. Fresh wine is poured with every topic change. Food disappears slowly.

“It's like everyone wants to find prince charming in their English lit class.” Hyunjin scoffs, sipping his second full glass of wine. “It's college, not love island. I'm not interested in commitment, I'd rather just–”

“Hang out with a married couple that's five years older than you?” Chris teases, eyes crinkling with a smile. 

“Exactly.” Hyunjin tips his glass towards him. “You two know what I am already.”

“Oh, yeah? And what's that?” You lean in, chin rested in your palm, eyes glassy from the wine.

Hyunjin swirls the liquid in his glass, watching the middle sink. “A ghost.” Silence follows for a beat before Chris breaks it.

“Is that what the kids call it?” Chris glances at you. “I thought he was a fuck boy with attachment issues.”

You shrug, standing with a stretch. “Honest mistake.” The three of you laugh again, just the way Hyunjin likes it. Nothing taken too seriously, not questions that try to make him feel anything he’s not interested in. Silence settles again until Chris’ voice cuts through it. “You want dessert, Hyun?” The question hangs in the air, stretching out longer than it should.

And then—just like that—he’s not at the table anymore.

Dinner plates are cleared, candles guttered low. Hyunjin’s third glass of wine warms him from the inside out, light pooling behind his eyes. The sounds around him fracture into their own universes—cars passing outside, the crackle of the record player, but he chooses to tune into the laughter.

“How are you feelin’?” Chris’ voice cuts through the haze. It starts as a murmur, then echoes louder in his head. 

Hyunjin swallows, breathes deep, ribs expanding like elastic and stomach full. He's good. “So good.”

He leans back against the couch, fingertips pressed into the sides of his glass. His eyes focus on the two of you, on the halo of soft light spilling over your and Chris’ shoulders. Music drifts low and heavy. The two of you move together to an old song, slow, fluid, hypnotic. Chris’ hand rests on your waist, wandering lower like a tide, waiting for the right moment to pull you in. Hyunjin's breath picks up when he clocks it, caught between wanting to join or just watch.

The heat in him unspools like smoke. His eyes follow every curve, every subtle motion. His gaze climbs—waist, ribs, collarbone—up, up, until his eyes meet Chris’. He smiles, your husband really smiles, like now the night has finally started. When Hyunjin comes here he doesn't want to feel real. He doesn’t want reasonable conversation or to be held. No, he wants to escape. He wants euphoria. 

Time pours like honey, flooding the space like it wants to give you a moment to taste it. Hyunjin is present. Focused. Maybe too focused. He watches the way your toes spread with every step, the way Chris shamelessly palms the swell of your ass, and you're watching him too. Mouth parted like he wants to wet his lips with you, stiff beneath the linen pants you picked for him and nothing else. 

It's titillation induced by comfort. Arousal provoked by the absence of emotion. Hyunjin doesn't want you to care about him. He asked you not to. The clock ticks once, twice, double. Hyunjin blinks. He swears he only blinks. 

The space has shifted again. He's sitting with Chris now, a new record is playing, scratching then correcting itself. The sound crackles into something foreign, french he thinks, Neither of you speak it. Not really. You're just good at making him feel like you do.

Amber candle light catches in your wine glass, flickering like it's learning how to breathe. You're dancing. Hyunjin watches, blinks, refocuses, then loses it. He looks over and Chris is already looking back.

“Ya know” Chris glances over at you, tracing the sway of your hips. “She was like this in college,” Their eyes meet again, lingering, like they're both preparing for something they don't have to say out loud. “Ethereal. Free-spirited and stubborn as hell. Had to marry her.”

“You're lucky.” Hyunjin mutters, voice rough with something thinner than restraint. “You're rich, even without the money”

The corner of Chris’ mouth ticks up, “You can be, too.” The low light of the chandelier traces you into everything reflective until you're surrounding them. Until your image echoes. Chris' hand is on Hyunjin’s thigh, he barely feels it. It sinks into him. The space shrinks, and Hyunjin leans in first. He always leans in first. Your feet slow, your smile spreads, and their breath syncs. Hyunjin’s gaze drops, traces Chris’ lips as if he hasn't tasted them for months. He watches your husband's tongue skate the seam—then he chases it. 

The kiss is slow, clumsy in a way that grounds your spine. Chris presses in, Hyunjin moans and slips his tongue across your husband's. They lick into each other's mouths, moans sync to the grove of the record and play back over and over. 

“There you go.” You're behind Hyunjin now, palms smoothing over his shoulders while your knees sink into the couch cushions. “This is what your girlfriend is missing.” You tease. 

“Not my girlfriend.” Hyunjin mumbles, reaching back, palm pressing to your knee.

“Then you'll have no problem forgetting about her.” you whisper, kissing the shell of his ear, then trailing to the corner of his mouth. They break the kiss to let you slot in-between. It's lips then tongue, then lips again. The mix fizzes under your skin. 

You fall back first, laugh bubbling sweetly. “I think I had too much wine.” you sink into the sofa, they turn and watch. “It's hot.”

Hyunjin mutters, eyes wandering down, down, over the curve of your breasts, free beneath soft muslin. “That's just you.” 

Chris laughs, the record scratches, the tempo changes. It's tip toeing now, transgressing right before you all. Hyunjin watches it slip into you, watches your knees fall apart, your dress rides up.

“You're that hot, baby?” Chris muses, knowing damn well that the wine is an excuse. He reaches past Hyunjin to rub your bare knee. His fingertips press hard enough to make you moan. Hyunjin's breath hitches. “Feel her f'me. How hot is she?”

It's still for a beat, only the music exists, then Hyunjin joins it. He moves slowly, turns, fingers shaking like his wrists are 808's. He moans when he touches you, eyelids fluttering and fingers pressing deeper into where you're begging for attention. “Holy shit.” 

“Hyun–” your back bows with ease. Fingers digging into the pillows at your side. “More” 

You whine when he doesn't move, he keeps his touch shallow, tracing. Pointer and middle spreading your sticky folds then filling the space. Chris takes mercy on you. His hand moves from your knee to Hyunjin's, then to his wrist. Your husband guides him, drives his fingers deeper with a gentle force, then whispers, “how hot is she?” 

The record cuts. Skips. Hyunjin’s breath shallows, fingers flexing deep inside you. “Hot,” he mutters, sobered by the squeeze of you. “runnin’ a fever.” 

Chris hums, feigning something other than focused desire. “Got any remedies?”

You moan, buck up—then Hyunjin’s knees are pressed into the carpet. One of your legs draped over his shoulder while Chris presses your other thigh back. 

Hyunjin's tongue is buried, fucking deep, curling up again and again. You taste like spring water, smell like rose water. Your husband's cheek is pressed to your thigh, cooing at you even though he knows words melt into nothing for you right now. 

“S’good, huh? I know, baby. I know.” Chris smooths your hair back, presses his thumb over your bottom lip then slips it over your tongue. “Go ahead, suck—that's it, darling. That's my girl.”

You keen, loud and pathetic. Hyunjin slurps, trails the tip of his tongue higher, circles and sucks your clit between slick lips. “Can you come on his tongue for me?” Chris spreads your spit over your bottom lip. “Come in his mouth so I can taste it.”

You choke on a syllable, try again, and break into a wail. “B–baby—” they don't know which one you're talking to. They assume both. Hyunjin licks, tongue flat and the tip flicking. Chris spits down onto your cunt and Hyunjin’s tongue, palming the flesh he's holding out of the way. 

You break somewhere in-between—legs trembling, breath wet with euphoria. Hyunjin rides it out with you, tongue flat and lapping, head shaking against you with moans that vibrate through your bones. 

You're slack, lost for the moment. Chris lets you go, Hyunjin pulls back, then they collide. Sharing the taste, lips smacking and tongues hurried. Your husband pulls Hyunjin up from his knees by his collar and stands with him, they slot into each other flawlessly. 

Chris' palm presses firm over Hyunjin’s cock, stiff with anticipation. “Bet it's droolin'.” he bites Hyunjin's lip, pulls just a little. 

“Touch it and find out.” Chris’ hand brushes up Hyunjin's length, his own stiffness rubbing up against his thigh. Their moans grow louder, hands move faster. Hyunjin grabs Chris' ass and you sigh from your spot on the couch.

“Show me.” Chris sits, brown eyes pleading.“Wanna see you.”

Hyunjin's cock jumps, a rush buzzing forward, body hot. His thumb hooks into his waistband, grazing the tag, then drags the fabric down. His stance widens, cock springs impatiently. 

“Fuck.” he watches Chris, watches the way your husband licks his lips, leans forward and sticks out his tongue. Chris’ mouth is warm, sliding down slowly with a torturous hum. 

“oh my–jesus” Hyunjin’s head falls back, you dip your fingers into yourself, Chris bobs his head. “Yeah. yeah, yeah, fuck, please.” His hips buck and your husband's hands slide up Hyunjin's thighs to knead the flesh. He takes him so deep he gags. You moan this time. 

“Such a pretty cock sucker, baby.” you coo. Hyunjin cradles the back of Chris’ head, fingers knotting in the cropped messy blonde. “Choke on him again.” he does. Hyunjin nearly doubles over from the feeling, knees threatening to buckle. 

Chris pulls away with a string of spit connecting him, he licks it, breaks it. Hyunjin’s eyes are low-lidded, watching Chris notice the tag still on his pants. He knows what it means, knows he doesn't feel like it's really his. Not getting attached. So, he plucks it with a single pull. Hyunjin doesn't move, he lets the moment air out. It feels like a kiss, feels like winning.

Time moves like a sandbag through the air after that. Hyunjin finds a glass of wine on the coffee table, not his, he sips anyway. Behind him, the couch creaks beneath your weight, your knees are pressed into the couch cushions, hands busy working at Chris’ pants. Hyunjin stands at the arm of the couch, naked, watching like he paid to. Chris gives him a look and he passes the glass to him.

"Don't get shy on us." Chris purrs, sipping slow and humming against the rim when you take him in. His attention turns to you, watching inches disappear between drooling lips. “C'mere” he’s talking to you now. His fingers card through your hair slowly, lacing through at the back of your head and guiding you up, up, up all the way to his mouth. His lips touch yours, pucker, and the wine slips right onto your tongue. Warm with the taste of him. 

Hyunjin watches a ruby rivulet trail over your jaw, then neck, pooling lazily. You're back on Chris' cock in an instant. The amber lamp behind the couch catches like fire on your skin. “You can feel her. You know you can.” The men catch eyes, both glassy with the same shade of need.

It's slow, like you're being stalked before a kill. Hyunjin slips in behind you, the condom wrapper already half open between his fingers. He grazes first, a slight brush of his fingers—thigh, hip, waist. Then he grabs. His other hand smooths over your ass, squeezing the swell of it while your husband watches. Hyunjin's hand pulls back, then—“mmph”. Chris shutters at the feeling of your moan. The pop stains the air. He does it again, you jerk, moan, take Chris deeper. Again. Again. Hyunjin’s fist is tight around his cock, rolling the condom on then stroking the leaky tip.

He kneads the stinging flesh, pressing himself against it, against you. “I have to…I have to–” Hyunjin pushes in slowly, sinking into sopping, gooey flesh that hugs him just right. “holy shit.” He always says that when he feels you.

You choke a wet moan around Chris’ cock. He holds your head down. “You're not done yet, baby.” then he bucks up, dragging a strained sound out of you. 

Hyunjin copies him, shifting his hips in a shallow thrust that crosses your already bleary vision. You're drooling from both ends, fucked out before they even truly start. The two of them sync like a cruel machine. One pushes, the other pulls. The sounds are obscene, raw, and wet, the only thing Hyunjin can say he owns here. 

This is his. He feels it in his chest, in the way his skin stings with the threat of ecstasy bigger than he can hold. Chris watches him—really watches him—sees the way Hyunjin’s shoulders are set forward, the way his breath keeps stuttering like he’s chasing it and losing every time. 

“You’re so good for us” Chris says, low, rough, like he's coming out of himself to remind him. Hyunjin moans, lifts his head just enough. “This is all you’re good for, yeah? All we need.” His jaw tightens. A beat, then a breath dragged in through clenched teeth. 

“Fuck, yes, yes.” The air feels thicker now. Every sound lands harder—the slip of skin, the muffled drag of breath, your watery moans. It builds. 

You choke, and both of them feel it. “Look at you,” Chris mutters, hand splayed between your shoulder blades. “Gone.”

“She feels unreal.” Every word that comes out of his mouth is stretched thin, pressed out of him in time with uneven thrusts. He watches it. He watches his cock split you open again and again, the amber light catching where you're slick. “So fucking—God.” He watches Chris, cock wet with you, hips working your throat like he bought you for it. His brows are pinched together in that pretty way Hynjin likes, breathy hot moans spilling into the air. Then there’s you, in the middle of it all,boneless and brainless. Somewhere else entirely and nowhere at all. 

“Shit, I'm gonna come.” His head drops forward, spine bowing, the last of his restraint burning off like paper. He bites his fist, fingers digging into your hip. Yes. “Gonna fucking—oh god.”

Chris groans, “That’s it,” his own restraint tipping fast, “Just like that, let me see you.” It happens without warning. Not an orgasm, not a regular one where it’s one at a time. There’s no chain reaction, no. It’s a single moment pulling tight, like you all inhaled and forgot how to let go.

Hyunjin feels it coil low and sudden, heat surges up his spine so fast it steals the air from his lungs. His hands tighten reflexively on you, breath breaking apart as his body recognizes the edge before his mind does.

In front of you, Chris goes still. Not frozen—focused. His head tips back, throat exposed, chest lifting as if he’s bracing for impact. The sound he makes is barely there, swallowed, like he’s afraid to break whatever fragile alignment you’ve slipped into.

His hand slides over the back of the sofa without thinking. Hyunjin takes it. Their palms press together over your body—warm and shivering with euphoria.

That’s when it breaks.

Hyunjin gasps, sharp and wrecked, the sound punched out of him as his knees threaten to fold. The world tilts. Light fractures. He loses the edge of himself all at once—every rule, every role, every careful thought burning off in a rush.

Chris exhales hard, a curse dissolving into something breathless as the feeling tears through him, unfiltered. And you—caught between them—feel it crash through all three of you at once. A collective unraveling. The room seems to pause, suspended in the exact second before gravity remembers what it’s supposed to do.

Hyunjin’s forehead drops to your shoulder as the aftershock ripples through him. Chris’s hand stays locked with his, knuckles white, breath still uneven like he’s surfacing from deep water.

The record stopped playing minutes ago, the candles are guttered and the room is near dark. No one noticed.

Hyunjin laughs under his breath, thin and wrecked. His eyes flutter shut, lashes wet, mouth parted in something that might be a smile.

“That felt like…” He doesn’t finish it, he lets himself feel it instead. It felt like being reborn without asking. He knows you both felt it, too.

The world rushes back in slowly, sound first, then light, then weight. He shifts, frees you from the space you hold between them, and the first thing you do is kiss your husband. Crawl into his lap, lucid and smiling. Chris pulls Hyunjin closer, hand still in his, and he reluctantly settles into his side. Hyunjin takes a breath—one, two, three. Wait. Three, four, five. That's good. He's good. So good.

a/n: I wrote this is January... I decided to just stop being so hard on myself and post it. I hope that was the right choice :) Thanks for reading!

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The club is packed in a semi-calm way. Not overly rowdy with rainbow lights like other clubs. Your ex used to call it “fancy chaos” but you figured that was a lie since he was so good at those. You're looking around as soon as you get in but try not to make it obvious. The app says he's here. He said he'd wear Gucci and you figured he was a showy asshole—that's why you picked him. 

You don't see him by the bar, or the tables, the dance floor is a mess and—

“Looking for me?” You jump, turn fast with a hand over your chest. 

“Jeez—” there he is. Tall enough, Gucci jacket and matching pants. Perfect for the club, perfect for you.  

“Scared you?” You nod, taking a slower breath. “I meant to.” Oh, he's weird? The secret kind that sneaks up on you… you’ve encountered worse. He holds out his hand and you take it slowly. Very slowly. 

“Lee Minho, but you knew that.” He doesn't smile, isn't condescending, just straight to the point. You can work with that. You tell him your name and he hums like he already had your star chart memorized. 

You get right to it after that. “My ex is over there, I was thinking—” he cuts you off, smooth, laces his fingers with yours

“Follow my lead.” 

“Oh… okay.”

He starts leading you across the dance floor, hand warm and it's now that you get to take him in… this man is thick. Chest and thighs and just wow. 

When you get to the bar your ex is flirting with some girl while her boyfriend right beside her, fitting. Minho leans on the bar facing him and turns your back to him, he guides you closer, close enough to look comfortable. Close enough to look taken. 

“If this is going to work you have to look madly in love with me.” He doesn't smile, he smirks, big difference. There's something dark to it. Something that's five steps ahead. 

He's right though. You snap yourself out of staring and smile at him, a real smile. You lean a touch closer, lay your hand closer to his and laugh at nothing at all. 

Lights, camera, action. 

Minho smiles now, perfect and wide and says the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. 

"You ever think about how fucked we’d be if horses were carnivores?” you lose it, cause he's right and also wow. That laugh is just what he needed, though it is beautifully distracting. Minho looks down the bar and your ex is looking over like he’s trying to figure something out. Good. Minho goes again. 

"Imagine being the first person to see a cow and deciding to drink whatever came out of it.”

You cover your mouth this time, leaning into him. “Ew.” 

“Exactly.” He hums, eyes lighting up a bit. Gosh, you do have a pretty laugh, he's sure he'd recognize it too. “Imagine that. Warm white stuff from under a cow… let me drink it.”

“I mean, it's not too different from other things.” You say it before you can access the sense to stop. Minho's eyebrows raise, his head tilts a bit, and that damned smirk is back. 

“Oh, we're gonna have some fun.” Then he raises his hand for the bartender. “Buckle up, buttercup.”

Your ex sees him raise his hand and his reluctance tells Minho that he figured out it's you. He sends a co-worker over but Minho keeps looking at your ex. “Mm mm.” He motions towards him, smiling. “We want him, right princess?” Minho's hand finds your waist, sweet and warm and a little dizzying. You play along, nodding sweetly. 

“Yeah, he makes my drink perfectly every time. I think it's called—”

“Denial is a river?” Minho suggests smoothly and you have to bite your lip not to laugh. 

“That one, yeah.” The man behind the bar couldn't care less. He calls over your ex and tells him that he'll switch with him. Minho sees the moment your old flame tried to make himself burn bright enough to miss. 

“What can I get you?” His voice makes something happen in your chest. Not good, not anymore. It's more like anxiety. You don't know how but Minho notices, he squeezes your waist just slightly and you look up at him to find him already looking at you. 

“What do you want, baby?” He looks over at your ex. “Give her a second, yeah? She's the cute thoughtful type.” Minho walks you through some drinks options niceeee and slow and affectionate. At one point you find yourself moving in closer. There's something about him that's magnetic, like he's making space for you to slip right into him. 

“Give me something strong.” You look your ex in the eyes when you say it, borrowing some of Minho's courage to throw in a smile too. “Shaken and make it pretty.”

You can see that he has something he'd like to say, maybe ask why you're here or when you moved on. It's been months and he's been with half this damn club, now it's your turn even if it's fake. Minho coos something sweet when you finally order, hand wandering a bit lower on your hip for show… you think.

“I'll make mine simple.” the smile that he gives your ex belongs to an anime villain.  “I'll have a gin martini. Hendrick's if you have it. Stirred for exactly thirty seconds, not shaken. Extra cold. Lemon twist, no olives. In a chilled Nick and Nora glass if possible. If not, a coupe is fine. And could I get a sidecar of sparkling water with a lemon wedge? No seeds with the lemon, please.”

Your throat burns from trying not to laugh. Your ex looks at him and just stares for a second before asking “are you serious?” Minho's smile drops clean off his face, he stares, then asks, “do I look like I'm kidding?”

You're left alone in an instant. He starts making your drinks while you laugh into Minho's chest. 

“What the hell is that order?”

“My usual.” He teases. His hand smooths up your back now and you stand straighter at the feeling “Hm?”

He looks at you like he's actually trying to memorize something. His fingers tickle down your spine and you squirm a bit. “Sensitive?”

You hum a pathetic sound then try to hide it. Minho presses his fingertips a bit firmer, “Cute.” then his hand is gone. You almost protest the absence, almost grab his wrist, but then your drinks arrive. 

Your's first, then his. Neither of you look at your ex anymore. You still feel the ghost of his fingers tickling your spine and Minho's suddenly very interested to see where else makes a pretty girl squirm. 

“Ya’ll got a bathroom?” Minho asks, still looking at you for a lingering second before tilting his head expectantly at your ex. 

“Yeah.” He doesn't say anything else and Minho scoffs. 

“Finish the job, you look like you're quick. C'mon.” You laugh this time. Hard. So hard that you snort. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth and the corner of Minho's mouth turns up just a touch. He likes that more than he expected. 

Your ex hates this, his face says it all. “They're to the right down the hall.”

“Single stalls? One room?”

“Stalls.” he answers, fed up. 

“Am I bothering you?” Minho asks, voice a little meaner now. “Cause I can take my pretty girl to the bathroom and leave you to your lonesome.”

He glares between you and Minho, then again. “No sex allowed in the bathrooms.”

Minho hums, standing straighter with his hand nearly on your ass. “Who said anything about sex?” You're just impressed by how well he's showing off. This is money well spent. Minho fixes his jacket, flashing the Gucci stripes a bit and enjoying your exes glare. “But don't worry, she'll be quick.” You look up at Minho at that one. You'll be quick? Not him? You don't miss that distinction. 

Minho slaps some bills onto the counter and waves your boyfriend off. Once he’s gone he turns back to you, he doesn’t get to say a thing before you bring it up. “I'll be quick?” You turn into him, standing impossibly close now. Minho looks at you, eyes on yours. 

“If you're as sensitive there as you are on your spine, yeah, you will be.” You're sure your neck is starting to flush, ears too. It's hot, maybe it's your drink that you haven't even tried yet. You just need an excuse. 

“What's your plan here?” You bite your lip and Minho's eyes drop to it. He takes a second, just a quick quiet second before cupping your chin and tilting it up a bit. Just a bit. 

“The plan's to make you come.” Yeah. You're definitely flushed. “If that's what you want. I think I can make it worth your money.”

You finally lay a hand on his chest, messing with the buttons on his jacket. “You think you can?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, hums an amused laugh then looks out to the dance floor for a second, just a second. “Don't challenge me, I'll get carried away. 

Your hand slips inside his jacket, so close to the warm skin beneath his shirt. Teasingly close. “Maybe I want you to.” 

That does it. “We're going. Now.” He doesn't have to tell you twice. You let him take your hand again and lead you towards the hall opposite the bathrooms. You look back, confused.

“Where are we going?” He doesn't slow, just calls back an answer. 

“I'm not fucking you in a bathroom.” Aw, he's considerate. 

Minho leads you towards an empty VIP booth with a half cleared table. There's barely a curtain and it's busy enough that none of the drunk partygoers around you would be able to tell that you're ruining your panties. Minho slides in first, guiding you behind him and shifts you onto his lap. There's more than enough room and you're more than comfortable taking up space like this. 

“Be honest.” Minho looks up at you with eyes that shine unfairly bright. “Does this cost extra?” He scoffs, hands smoothing up your waist. He watches his fingers brush over the curves of your dress. 

“I'm not guacamole.” You laugh again, hard just like before. Minho smiles, actually smiles. “That damn laugh.” Then he's kissing you. His mouth seals over yours in a hot wet kiss that makes you moan into him. His hands slot on your waist and yours on his chest. Your hips move in small rocking motions with every kiss. You can't help it. 

Minho breaks the kiss first, laying his forehead against yours while guiding your rocking into full on riding. “Pretty girl.” He situated you so that you're straddling one thigh, hips rocking over the rough denim. Your panties are growing stickier by the second. The pressure feels like sex itself. “Pretty laugh makes me wanna hear her moan.”

“Wanna hear you too.” Minho smiles, kisses you harder just cause that was so damn cute of you.

“We're gonna take care of you tonight, kitten.” Then his hands start guiding firmer. Your sopping core is dragged forward, back, forward. Your panties roll to the side themselves and Minho presses up for perfect pressure. 

You swallow a sound and he squeezes your hip. “Nuh uh.” he starts bouncing his leg a bit, making himself vibrate against you. “Let me hear it, right in my ear, c'mere.” 

You lean close enough for your lips to brush the shell of his ear, close enough to smell his shampoo and cologne—and you moan. Sweet and a little deep and Minho swears it's perfect. 

“Oh, baby.” He guides you faster, your grinding turns into dry humping and moans turn into whines. There's a wet spot on Minho's jeans from his cock leaking through layers of fabric, then another from your flooding cunt. 

“Minho—” that gets a groan from him. His hands cupping your ass now, kneading and squeezing while you whisper and babble against his neck. “I'm gonna cum.” 

He keeps pace, doesn't change it, something your ex could never seem to do. That alone makes you wet his jeans. It's a gush, not squirting but just as messy. Minho fucking loves it. 

“She's so messy.” You pull back and look at him with dazed eyes and wet lips. “Let's see”

His hand finds wet flesh under your dress, swiping his fingers over your clit, then small circles. Your spine bows, hips bare down, still sensitive from your high. You whimper, he hums. 

“Pretty kitty is sensitive, huh?” The tips of his fingers press inside then back. “Can you take two?” You nod before sense can catch up. 

Minho likes that. “Good girl.” Then he's pressing in. His fingers sink deep into gooey flesh and your mouth parts with no sound. It's sensitive. It's tight and burns so good. 

“Minho, m’ gonna make a mess.” He looks at you like he's waiting to be told when he asked. His fingers move once, pull back and sink. 

“Give me something to clean up.” It's over after that. He moves like he wants to see you split in two. 

You're straddling both his thighs now, spread open by him. The squelch your cunt cries out is obscene, so much so, that someone at a neighboring booth looks up to the ceiling like they heard it. You can't help but chuckle, and Minho stops completely. 

“Do that again.” You tilt your head, mutter a small “huh?” But he's already tickling your spine. You yelp and chuckle, nails digging into his shoulder.

Minho's teeth sink into his bottom lip and his fingers curl inside of you, deeper, perfect. “So tight when she laughs.” You're holding on by a thread. Your foreheads on his again, he's talking you through it with sweet names and praise. 

“That’s it, keep it up, baby.”

“Gonna make me cum, looking so pretty...”

“Gimme another one, kitty, c'mon.”

Your orgasm is creeping up on you, each and every methodical curl of his fingers is bringing you closer and closer, you're close, so close.

“Min—” you hide your face in his neck and let out a wet and long moan. Drooling a bit into the collar of his jacket. Minho's fingers keep going, helping you ride it out, but his rhythm falters. His breath catches and he groans something broken deep in his chest. “Did you just…”

His breathing picks up just a touch uneven. You pull back, look down, and both wet spots are spreading. He came in his jeans. Finished untouched. Unreal. Impressive. 

Minho looks up at you, eyelids fluttering like he's still a bit dazed when he says— “kiss me.” 

You do. You meet him in the middle and kiss him softly. Soft enough to hear his slight hum when your warmth settles. “Perfect.” He murmurs then kisses you again. 

“He's” kiss “an” kiss “idiot” 

That makes you chuckle against him, soft and sweet. Minho pulls back then, looking at you for a moment. You’ve cracked him a bit. He blames that laugh. He loves it a little too much for this to be fake. 

“So.” You murmur, rubbing the tip of your nose over his. “Venmo or Zelle?”

Minho hums, face serious, humorless. “Your number.” You lift your brows at him, smile a bit and he gives you that damn smirk. “I'll take that instead."

a/n: I have been soooooo in my head about this series. I hope that you enjoyed!

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If your name is bold & italic, then your account didn't pop up when tagged!

It started last night, mid cuddle session. He brought it up first, seemed to be thinking about it for a while. 

“Do you find my roommate attractive?” You froze, who wouldn't? Cause the answer is yes. Minho's roommate—Seungmin—isn't ugly, far from it. In fact, if you didn't meet Minho first things might have gone differently. 

You're honest, always honest, and it seems to work out in your favor. Minho vents, says that it's been nearly a year since he's seen Seungmin actually flirt with someone. 

“It's like he's allergic to xx chromosomes, I'm getting concerned.” He went on for awhile, analyzing every little moment until he finally asked—

“This is gonna sound crazy, but would you sleep with him? Suck him off, something? You think he's hot and he stares at your ass, it's perfect.”

Now you're here, in Seungmin’s room, sitting on the edge of his bed while he and Minho argue. 

“This is fucking stupid,” Seungmin’s sitting at his desk, arms crossed and leaning back in his computer chair. Too relaxed for someone who just got offered oral.

“What's stupid is the fact that it had to come to this.” Minho argues, picking up something from the desk, turning it over between his fingers then tossing it back. “You won't sleep with anyone else, so I have to lend you my girlfriend.”

Seungmin narrows his eyes, scoffing, “Lend me your girlfriend? That's okay with you?” He looks over at you. “Is this okay with you?”

You nod, a small, almost stupid smile on your face. “I'm fine.” Seungmin thinks that's ridiculous. 

“This is ridiculous.” See. 

Minho rolls his eyes. “Will you just agree, already?” he looks over at you, “grab a pillow, get on your knees.”

Seungmin sits up straighter, eyes wide like this all got too real too fast. “Woah, woah, woah I did not agree.”

You pause, halfway to the floor, looking between them. “I'm just gonna…” you lower yourself the rest of the way, hugging the pillow to your chest, legs crisscross. 

“Why are you being difficult?” Minho whines. “She's good, really good, wanna see? Here.” He starts untying his sweats and Seungmin’s eyes nearly pop. He stands, pushing Minho's shoulder. 

“Out.” He points to the door and Minho scoffs. 

“You’re being impossible.”

“And you’re being a perv, so I think I'm the lesser of two evils.” he shoves Minho's shoulder again and then gets shoved back. You sit there like a kid watching saturday cartoons. 

“So… am I sucking someone off or can I go order some food?” They both stop and look at you. Seungmin looks like he's been isekai'd, the exact opposite of Minho who's so ready for you to suck his friend off it's kinda concerning. 

“How do I get you to say yes?” Minho huffs, looking back at his friend. “Like, morally, how would this be okay for you?”

Seungmin curses under his breath, an incredulous laugh coming up. “You want me to get a blow job from your girlfriend. Nothing about this is morally right. I'm literally–this is–Minho, what the hell?” 

Silence. A beat, then two, three. 

“So… what? Want me to stay? That way it's not a secret.” Seungmin groans, Minho groans, you’re close to walking out.

“I'm gonna get some onion rings, you guys want any?” You're ignored, you figured you would be. 

Minho locks in. 

“I'll stay, we can do it together.” Remember how Seungmin’s eyes were wide earlier? Imagine them wider. 

“Oh, you're a fucking idiot.” Minho slumps, eyes rolling back far enough to hurt. “This isn't brotherly bonding, it's sex.”

“Ah, tomato tomato, same thing.”

“It is not—” 

This goes on for another minute, then two. The back and forth goes on. Seungmin sits back down, stands up, can't stay still. Minho picks up a pen from the desk and chucks it at his friend, frustrated. 

Then, finally— “Okay, okay, just shut up for a second.” Seungmin caves. 

He sits, thinking, trying to make this make sense.

“I don't care if you stay,” he says to Minho, unexpected. “but I don't wanna see your dick.”

Minho narrows his eyes. "We've eaten from the same chopsticks."

“Not the same." Seungmin grimaces, "If you take it out I’m not looking. If she sucks you off I'm not looking. I don't want you here, but morally this is the only way it won't feel like cheating."

"That's stupid." Minho huffs.

"I don't care.” Seungmin scoffs.

“Okay so—love the energy,” They both look at you and you're already up on your knees, pillow snug beneath you. “I still don’t know if I’m sucking dick or ordering food though. No rush, but I could've been halfway through a combo meal by now.”

Minho looks at Seungmin, “take your dick out.”

“Jesus Christ." 

It takes another minute—Minho chucks a pen at Seungmin again—and they land on something decent. Minho in the chair facing the desk, not looking, and Seungmin on the edge of the bed. Good enough.

Seungmin isn't looking at you, not really. He's half hard, you can see it, but he's in his head. 

“Relax, this isn't that weird.” You give an attempt at comfort and he glares. “Okay, it is weird, but that's the hot part.”

“Please stop before I change my mind.” you roll your eyes, hand moving up to palm him over his sweats. He jolts, exhales slow. 

“Just focus.” your hand works over him, stroking slow over the hardening length beneath thin gray fabric. Behind you, Minho turns back and forth in the desk chair. 

“You have games on your computer?” You kick the leg of the seat, he protests with a dramatic “hey!”

“Hush, you're gonna undo my hard work. Literally.” You can hear the pout without even looking. 

Seungmin watches your hand, the way you move over him, pressing just right like you know what he likes. He won't let himself moan, no sounds, just heavy exhales. 

“Look at me.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I'm literally about to have your cock in my mouth. Look at me.” 

His shoulders slump, defeated. His lashes flutter slowly, reluctantly, then his gaze meets yours. You smile, just a little, just enough. 

“It's just us.” You lean in, lips brushing over his thigh, then the growing tent in his pants. You adjust yourself, showing off more of your ass. Works like a charm. 

His cock jumps against your lips, straining against the fabric now. You kiss it, slow, a little wet. Dark stains bloom with every kiss, your fingers crawl up slowly, thumbs tucking into his waistband. 

“No way this is fucking happening.” He mutters, head tipping back to look at the ceiling. 

You tug at his sweats, he lifts his hips and—

“Oh.” No boxers, just bare dick. Right there. “none?”

Seungmin’s ears are red, neck is red, eyes still on the ceiling. “Just–please, don't.”

You leave it alone. His sweats pool at his ankles, his fingers fist into the covers behind him, anticipation burning hot. Your hands come up, wrap around him. 

“Fuck, your hands are cold.” Minho wheezes, laughing so hard his knee hits the desk. You suck your teeth. “No, seriously, are you okay? Jesus, that's–wow.” 

You glare over your shoulder, look back, and spit down onto him. It hits slow, warm and wet and Seungmin’s hips actually buck. 

“Better?” You spread it with two hands, working him slow and he bites back a groan. 

“They're still freezing, but–ah.” You kiss him, wet and soft on the tip and then again on the other side. It's quiet again, Seungmin’s watching your hands again, you move slow enough for him to take it in. 

“Is it in her mouth yet?” Minho whispers, pretending to peek. 

“Hush”

“Shut up.” 

You and Seungmin speak at the same time. Minho pouts again. 

It takes a second for Seungmin to actually relax. You go slow, watching, pushing your chest up against the edge of the mattress and wiggling your ass just right. He melts bit by bit, his breathing turns shallow, the head of his cock starts to dribble. Ready. 

You glance up at him, he meets your gaze, holds it, then you lean forward. He huffs a loud breath, nearly a curse. Your tongue trails flat up the underside, lapping up the sticky drops and leaving a sloppy kiss. Then again, and again, taking more and more of him each time. 

“This isn’t real.” He breathes, head tipping back just for a second. “Can’t be real.” Minho isn't moving in the chair anymore, he's leaned back, focused. 

“It's definitely in her mouth now.” Your boyfriend mutters. You kick the leg of the chair again, it jerks forward. 

Seungmin ignores him, too focused on not busting the most ridiculously fat nut on your face in five seconds. His fist is tight in the cover beneath him, you take him all the way down and he can't help but moan. 

You stay down, swallowing around him. Pull back, spit, go down again. It's wet, vulgar in the way that your lips smack.

“Oh my–fuck.” You choke, he's in it now. Fighting for his life. 

Behind you, Minho's quiet again, too still. His own cock hard in his sweats, straining. 

"Okay,” Minho mumbles, a bit rough. “That would be hotter if she wasn't choking on my best friend. Still really hot, though." 

Seungmin groans, can't help himself. "You get it now."

Minho nods even though neither of you can see him. "Yeah, I get it now.”

You pull back, spit down on him again as if his cock needs to be any more slick than it already is. You pepper slippery kisses. The head of his cock is red, tight and threatening to give any second. It jumps with every kiss up his shaft, every lick you drag out. 

“This is—I'm not making it another minute.” You take him in your mouth again, hum while bobbing your head. That damn near ends him. Your lashes flutter, big brown eyes looking right at him. Too pretty, too much. “Holy shit, like, seriously.”

Minho chimes in, “We won't judge you.”

“Hyung, shut the hell up.” 

You add your hands, both of them, twisting over each other while you drool over the head. Each stroke makes a sound—loud, obscene.

“I'm gonna cum, gonna–gonna‐” he doesn't get to finish. His hips lift, stutter, and then he's spilling hot into your mouth. You take it all. 

Minho claps like a plane just landed, you kick the chair again.

Seungmin comes down slowly, thighs shaking and eyes squeezed shut. You pull up off of him slowly, take your hands away and his cock falls forward. Wet. 

It's quiet. Really quiet, only the sound of you and Seungmin’s breathing bouncing off the walls. Everyone is still, you don't think Seungmin is in his body. Minho moves first, standing quick, dick very hard. 

“Well,” he sighs, grabbing your wet hand to help you up then physically cringing. “Ew, ew, ew.”

“You knew I just sucked a dick.” You shake your head at him. He wipes his hand on his pants, shaking it off for good measure. 

“Okay, well, we're gonna go. That sounded like you needed it and now I'm gonna put her through a mattress.” Minho grabs your hand again, it's cold now. “Ew.”

You let him lead you towards the door. “Can I please get my onion rings now?” No one answers. You sigh. “Later, Seungmin.”

Minho pulls you out into the hall, you ask about onion rings again. He leaves Seungmin’s door open just enough to annoy him. 

Seungmin is sitting there. Still exposed, wet and cold now. His eyes are on the ceiling, head tipped back, dick going soft. He hears Minho's mattress squeak, muffled words about a combo meal. He sighs, finally blinks. 

“What the hell just happened?”

a/n: I wrote this for fun while being super sick and had the best time doing it. I write lots of small things for fun, all genres, but I rarely share them. Should I share my unfiltered stuff more? Maybe start a collection? Anywayyyy, Thanks for reading!

divder by @uzmacchiato

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“Hold it, you little shit.” You point at him first, then Changbin. “You think this is funny?” 

“Me?” Changbin looks around, points to himself too with wide eyes. 

“Yes, you. You're the accomplice!” Before they can ask if you're okay again, you approach Chris as he's laid back on a piece of gym equipment. 

He sits up with a clueless brow, “What's wro–”

“If you don't wanna do it, I'll do it myself.” You place a hand on his shoulder and push him back down. “Go on, you slut.”

“Slut? Go on? I'm literally exercising?” 

“Mhm, continue. You absolute madman.”

Chris glances at Changbin again, then up over his head at you. “What's going on now? Why am I a madman?”

“You think this is funny, huh?” You finally crack a smile despite yourself.

“I'm not even smiling–” He is, in fact. A nervous grin.

“You think you can send one video and have me wrapped around your finger? Huh? Do you? Because you're absolutely right.” You crouch down to his level. “The audacity of you, and while I'm ovulating, too.”

“I beg your finest pardon?” He blinks and scoffs, laughs harder.

“You think you're so clever, muting that video like such a little sneaky thief in the night–”

“You have my bubble? Since when?”

“Please don't ask me questions. I can't do questions right now and you can't make me.”

Changbin chimes in, hand raised. “Do I get to know why I'm in trouble?” 

“You filmed it!” You point again.

“I… did.” Changbin smirks and looks away, lowers his hand and continues on dodging what's left of your spontaneous wrath.

“Evil little man.” You unlock your phone, go straight to your camera and point it at Chris. “I must rectify your mistake immediately.” 

“You're not seriously gonna record a whole new video just for the sound.” Chris seems genuinely amused by your determination.

“I didn't come here to fuck around, Christopher.” 

“You're serious? 진짜?” 

The small chime of your phone starting to record a new video answers for you. 

“Continue.” 

Chris can't help but to stare up at you, entertained, caught off guard, and in disbelief all at once. 

“You're insane.” He scoffs louder with a big bashful smile. Nonetheless, he corrects his form and decides to indulge your request. “I swear. Only for you.”

After about 15 seconds, you find what you were looking for. The breathing, the grunts that match the face when he lifts the weight, the clinking of the equipment. Even Changbin's groan in the background when he finishes his set. The missing piece to the puzzle, sound.

You end the video when Chris finishes his set, standing to your full height with a satisfied smile.

“Happy?” Chris asks, blood rushing to his neck and shoulders, leaving a blush around his face as well. 

“Thank you. That will be all.” You turn around and cackle. Not a laugh, a cackle. Like a witch who just found the last ingredient to a potion. 

“That's it? You're just leaving?” He calls out, sitting up with even more disbelief than earlier. 

“Ah!” You run back to him and lean down, grabbing both sides of his face. 

You press a firm kiss to his lips, one that almost stuns him. He relaxes into it quickly, hands hovering over yours. You pull away and admire him briefly, “Thank you, Channie.”

Before he can respond, you turn around and skip away, calling out behind you. “You're insane!”

The door closes behind you, leaving Chris and Changbin to try and figure out what kind of drive-by they were just a victim to. 

“...You are pretty insane for that video, hyung.”

“I'm not gonna hear the end of this for a while, am I?”

“Nah, probably not.”

“Well, fuck.”

────────── ♡

You walk alongside her up the windy path that you'd be complaining about if you both didn't pregame as hard as you did. The house is rustic and down to earth. A stone chimney with warm colors, brown and green and a deep mahogany all over the front patio. You see the party through the front window, gold toned lights showcasing the blur of people, but it's casual at best. 

The most casual thing about your appearance is the neutral tones glossing your lips.

“Girl, what the fuck…” Your friend notices first and can't help but mutter to herself, heels clicking against the concrete path. You can't help but cover your laugh, “Nah, it's okay. We can't be the only ones.”

You go up the path, checking out the homey vibes and admiring it in its full glory. This house is straight out of a Pinterest mood board, undeniably so. The music gets louder the closer you get, and the worries about your outfit start to fade away as the bass sweeps them to the back of your mind. There's a few people sitting at the patio, smoking whatever it is they need to to be social butterflies. 

“Let's see,” Your friend whispers and presses her hands together briefly in a mock prayer, then reaches for the knob and pushes. It's more lively inside than it looks on the outside. The music is a good mix of y2k classics and current hits that make you instantly start to nod your head. You're glad you didn't take that extra shot beforehand or else you'd have an instant headache. 

The attire is casual with a few outliers, a relief. There are more than two pairs of unnecessarily tall heels and that makes you sigh, a grin on your lips. You nudge your friend, “See, I told you, bitch.” And nod your head in the direction of a group with more shiny jewelry twinkling under the warmth of the lights than you two. “Party in a villa, it's misleading as fuck. I told you.”

Your friend rolls her eyes with relief and visibly relaxes, shoulders uncoiled. “Thank you, God.”

“We splitting up or stayin–”

“Don't ask me stupid questions right now please,” she grabs your wrist and starts forward, forging her path and shaking her head. “Like, for real. Please.”

You throw your head back and laugh, “My bad, my bad.”

There are drinks somewhere. She can sense it, somehow. As if she's got an air tag on the kitchen, she leads you both to the island full of bottles and drinks, cups, ice, snacks. Everything. Tipsy girl heaven. 

“Hah, nice.” She nods, grips the neck of a bottle without reading the label. Your wrist is released in favor of a cup, so many cups you'd think Solo sponsored the party themselves. She grabs two and starts on filling them, laughing mischievously. “‘Bout to get into some shit tonight, I can feel it in my bones.”

You watch her pour up two cups while also surveying the party as well. There's oddly more space in the middle than the outsides, the deeper into the house you get the more chill it seems to get. Counterintuitive, but gives you room to breathe. She hands you your cup, overfilled but who really cares when it's free liquor? 

“Cheers, bitch.” She holds up her red plastic spark of joy, “To the fallen homies.”

You scoff, eyes narrowed. “We are from upstate.”

“To the fallen homies!” She insists, holding the cup closer to yours. “C'mon now, stop playin’ with me.”

“You know what? Fuck it.” You shrug, bump your cup to hers and tip your head in her direction. “To the fallen homies, whoever they are.”

You sip in unison, and only one of you gags. The burn in your throat tells you that it's definitely something authentic and probably too expensive to be at a random party, but you indulge nonetheless. 

“Aw, shit.” She grimaces, picking up the bottle to read the label, “Fuck me.”

“Should've done that before. Serves you right.” You shake your head and sip again, surveying the open floor plan further until you notice the fireplace. A group of people sat around the couch next to it. You're too nosey not to want to go over there.

You peek over shoulders and heads taller than you, obstructing your view. “Fuck they got goin’ on?”

Your friend looks in the same direction, shrugs. 

“Hm, adventure time.” She glances at you. “Tryna find out?”

“I meeean,” You start, then your feet answer for you and your heels click over to the couch. Your friend’s heels click behind yours, redwood flooring carrying you over to satisfy your curiosity. 

The deeper in you go, the more niche it seems to get. The party seems to have two groups, the flashy, aura farming, instagram story olympians, and the actual real people. Around the couch is a group of people dressed eclectically and seemingly focused on one person. 

There's a coffee table littered with beer bottles, red cups, and an empty box for Bicycle branded cards. You look along the line of people sitting on the couch and find the apparent center of attention. A white Fendi tank, a ring for his pointer and middle finger respectively, and flushed knuckles shuffling cards.

“He wanna be David Blaine so bad.” Your friend murmurs, you can't help but to blow a harsh breath of laughter through your nose. 

“Not that. Anything but that.” 

He offers the deck to who he was talking to last, the boy in front of him. “So, cards are shuffled. You just saw me, right?” He speaks with so much confidence, as if that in itself is the trick.

The boy nods. He continues, “And you believe me when I say I'd never cheat, right?” Another nod.

He smirks. “Good. So then, your card shouldn't be at the top of the deck. Go ahead, take that top card and see for yourself.”

The boy hesitates, reaches as if the card might bite him. “You're fucking with me. I can feel it.”

“Never.” He smirks wider, glances down at the deck. “Go ahead, it won't run from you.”

The boy waits, smiles. Snatches the top card and looks down, sighs. The smile fades. “This isn't my card.”

“Ah, fuck. It's not?” He pretends to be surprised. Scratches the side of his head. “Hm, that can't be right. Certainly it should be on the top. I mean, you saw me shuffle the deck. It shouldn't be…”

He slides his thumb along the side of the deck, cuts it and then repeats. Three times. Separates the deck as evenly as he can into three stacks on the coffee table. “Here.” He picks up the top card from the left stack. Three of spades. 

The boy's smile returns tenfold. 

“And your card,” He points to the boy next to his current subject, hand hovering over the right stack, “The fuck is it doing here? I thought I told you to hold onto it, hm?” Eight of clubs.

The group, or rather crowd, gasps and laughs, grinning with disbelief and dopamine. 

“How the– you can't steal the card I'm holding! I'm holding that one!” the boy, Changbin, shouts before he looks down and finds the Joker. His under eye twitches with confusion. “Chan, you fucking wizard.”

You share a glance with your friend, more intrigued than you'd both like to admit. 

“Hm. Chan.” She lifts a brow, mischievous again.

Chan chuckles, then shrugs. “Gotta pay attention,” He looks around the group and finds one last victim. Lucky for you, you stand out like a flower in the desert. He smiles, tilts his head up and eyes you from your heels to your ponytail. “Like her. She's payin’ real close attention.”

Your eyes widen with surprise at being called out, especially in the middle of an unfinished trick. “Aren't you supposed to be focused on the cards?” You say before the liquid courage drains out of you. You hear a faint ‘oop’ from next you, your friend brushing a strand behind her ear.

Chan raises a brow, “I can multitask. Thought that was a given.” He glances down, points at the last unrevealed stack in the center. “Wanna help me with this last stack, doll?”

“Oh, he has an accent.” Your friend whispers. You don't react because you're locked in and must stay focused. 

“Help you with what exactly?” You take a step closer, in too deep to back out now. He leans forward, elbows to knees, eyes never leaving yours. “A few little things. That alright?”

“Go ahead.” You stop right in front of the table. He looks down at your watch and raises a brow, scoots over on the couch.

“C'mere, get comfortable.” He pats the spot next to him, inviting and oddly alluring. You reciprocate the brow raise, sensing the tension he's skillfully building around you both. You oblige, clicking over to the empty spot and sitting with your back leaning against the arm of the couch, turned to face him.

“Now, just a few things I need from you.” Chan turns to face you too. “A number, a suit, and your magic touch. Gotta be your touch, or else someone will think I'm cheating.” He turns to look over his shoulder, the two boys from before watching with undivided attention.

They glance at each other, then at Chan. “Yeah, ‘cuz you're a fuckin' wizard.”

“Not a wizard,” He mumbles and shakes his head, looking back to your unwavering gaze. “Now, since you're dressed to the nines tonight, I suggest a nine. That okay with you, love?”

You prepare to agree, and one of his prior subjects, Hyunjin, points with accusation from next to him. “Cheater! Let her pick!”

“Hyunjin, you're way too into this.” Another boy, Seungmin, pats his shoulder from where he's stood beside the couch.

Chan closes his eyes briefly with a sigh, rolls his neck to one side, composing himself again and meeting your eyes with a fresh grin. “So, nine?”

You nod. “Nine’s fine.”

“Perfect. Next, a suit. Any suit you want.” 

You glance at your friend, she's already looking at you. She shrugs, mouths “I don't fucking know either.” You look back to Chan.

He smiles, eyes crinkled at the sides. “Need me to tell you the suits, don't you, doll?”

You nod again. “Read my mind.”

Chan scoffs, looks down at his lap. “You're lucky you're cute and I can't be mad at you.” Then back at you. “Four suits. Spades, hearts, diamonds, clubs. Any of those sound good to you?” 

You cross your legs, your knee brushing against his. Your back hits the corner of the couch, relaxed with a warm chest from the liquor and his subtle flirting that draws you into him and the trick he's setting up. “How about hearts, Mr. Fendi?”

He licks his lips, both brows raised now and an amused hum. “Ah, she knows her brands. A perceptive one. Trick might not work if you look too hard, you know.”

“You're the professional here, no?” You cross your arms over your lap, now it's your turn to look him up and down. You aren't subtle about it the way he was. 

Chan smirks again, leans forward to the coffee table again. “You said it, not me.” 

He runs his palms over his lap, points down at the untouched stack, “Alright, we got our number and our suit from the pretty girl in the pretty dress, and now all I need is your magic touch. If that's okay with you?”

“What kind of touch were you thinking of?” You sit up on the couch, more involved. 

He extends his hand to you, silently asking for yours. “May I?” 

“You may.” You give him your hand, acrylics neatly done and palm sliding into his. He doesn't look down at your joined hands yet, but his thumb runs across your knuckles before you can change your mind.

“Thank you, baby.” He smirks just enough to draw one from you, too.

He's clearly teasing now, testing the waters. It would be arrogant if he wasn't already two for three on the trick so far. “Now, see that top card there?” He points with his free hand.

“Mhm,” The back of your neck feels warm from the alcohol, your not so free hand brings your cup to your lips and sips more courage.

“Would you please be my good little doll and tap those cards for me?” 

“Just a tap?”

He nods firmly, a single nod. “Just a tap.” His thumb mimics his words, tapping the back of your hand before it rubs over the smooth skin, leaving a faint prickly sensation. “Promise.”

You can't help but to smile, tongue in cheek. If he's got nothing else, he sure does have audacity. “Yes, sir.”

“Go on, then. I'll be waitin’ for ya.” He nudges his head over to the stack. You look at the card back, no clue what card is actually on top. You saw him do it, the shuffling and the cutting of the deck. He didn't cheat, couldn't have. Didn't have the time to. You stand up, pull your dress down before bending your knees to reach over, middle and ring fingers tapping the stack three times. 

“Third time’s the charm, huh?” Chan says, watching your every move. His eyes drift to your legs as you stand and he was right. He can multitask. He notices the body shimmer on your skin, a lotion maybe. Looks nice under the warm lights, like glitter on honey. Before he can lose focus, his eyes dart back between you and the coffee table. He knows what he's doing.

You sit back down next to him, a satisfied grin at your participation. “That is what they say, isn't it?”

“Certainly is,” He nods, voice lower and more smug the closer he gets to the revelation. “Now, I've got your number, or hopefully I will by the end of this trick,” He looks into your eyes, “I've got your suit, and your beautiful magic touch. Think I'll get lucky?”

“If you can pull this off, we'll see.” You say, a product of your sip of courage. The group around you two are spectators to more than just the trick, the chemistry palpable. You aren't sure if it's also just part of the trick, but you couldn't care less with your mind and body so loosened up.

Chan’s eyes widen for a moment and he straightens up a bit, adjusts his jacket collar. “Wow, I better not fuck this up then.” He mumbles, his smirk renewed. He rests one hand on your knee, thumb finding its place caressing the skin right beneath your dress’s hem. His attention turns toward the group. “My lovely doll here, she saw me shuffle. Saw me cut the deck. And she knows I'd never cheat, don't you?” He only turns half of his attention to you, eyes peeking from the side over his shoulder, knowing you're listening. Knowing you're paying close attention to him.

And you are. “Mhm.”

“That's my girl.” He knocks on the table twice, thumb tapping your knee with something like praise, “Let’s see, then. We take our new friend here, flip ‘er over, and one, two, three…”

He takes the card off the top of the stack, flips it over, and surely enough, nine of hearts. The group erupts with disbelief again, skepticism from some, but another dopamine hit nonetheless. “There she is.”

“You are a wizard! I know a wizard when I see one, hyung!” Hyunjin stands, pointing with determined accusation.

Seungmin reaches a hand to his shoulder, patting a small thud over his leather jacket. “No more beers– hey! No one give Hyunjin any more beers.”

Chan picks up the nine of hearts, shows it to you with a smug smirk. “This belong to you?” 

You look between the card, your pretty little magic card, and his brown eyes that seem to be looking for a prize. You can't confirm it, just a gut feeling. “Lucky guess.”

“I'm wounded.” He mutters low, shakes his head, eyes searching yours. “Thought you said I was the pro. Doubting the pro?”

“Don't get cocky now.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkled again. His hand pats your knee gently before it leaves entirely, body turned to face the table. “Never that.”

Chan picks up all the stacks, combines them and taps them against the refurbished wood to straighten them out before his fingers contort around them.

First, a riffle shuffle, both hands holding an even cut taut before the cards fly into a joined stack supported by fingers curled to the first knuckle, gliding against the pads of his thumbs. They sit over his fingertips as they fall to settle into a single proper stack with a final release of his curled fingers. Then, a faro shuffle, cutting the deck into two even stacks again and letting the edges slot together like pieces of a puzzle. His fingers curl again to keep them tight, not too tight as to bend the deck and dent the cards, and they fly neatly from one hand to the other. 

He's too focused on the cards to see you glance knowingly at your friend, that look you give when you know you can read each other's minds. If you had to guess what she was thinking, it would be, “And he's good with his hands.” 

“Alright, any other victims?” Chan looks up from his skilled shuffling and around the group, a boastful expression. They all look amongst each other, then Hyunjin gets up from the couch and shakes his head. “I need another drink before the wizard tricks me again.”

He walks past you and Chan, Seungmin hot and quick behind him. “It's like you hear me, but you don't ever listen to me.” 

“Hyunjin-a, get me one!” Changbin shouts, but ends up following too. The rest of the group lingers, chatting and acknowledging Chan while also diverting attention to the party they were temporarily distracted from. Your friend sees you comfortable on the couch with Chan and decides to linger too. Not too close as to eavesdropping, but close enough to have your back if shit hits the fan. 

“So, you always bring cards to parties?” You ask, turning your attention to Chan with another sip from your special red cup. 

He turns to you, more directly facing you now that he has more room to himself. He smoothly tucks the cards into the box, then the box into his jacket pocket. “Not always. Friends like to watch when they're wasted.” He hums a laugh, glancing at his own beer bottle before leaning over to grab it, “How ‘bout you? Always look so fancy or is this a special occasion?” 

“Want me to be honest?” You tip your head down, peering up from lashes adorned with mascara.

“Always, angel.”

“I was deceived.”

Chan laughs, hearty and genuine following a swig from his own bottle of courage. “Deceived? That your kink or somethin’?” He is the professional, the master of deception in his own rite. He's successfully deceived you, in the best way possible.

“I guess so.” You take another languid sip, ignoring the warmth that starts to sweep over your forehead and threatens to unslick your hair with a thin layer of sweat. You want to mentally scold yourself for not checking the proof of this alcohol, but you're too loose to care now. 

“Well, lucky for me you were. You're hard to miss, you know.” He sits back, one knee pulled up on to the couch as he makes himself comfortable. “Glad I got to deceive you, too. You're fun to play with.”

“Told you not to get cocky.” You warn, entertained by his nonchalant and certain attitude. He's so sure of himself, but somehow it's not repelling. Quite the opposite.

“Not cocky, just Chan.” He smiles, an honest smile without the smug little mask. There's nothing deceiving about it this time. “Nice to meet ya.” ────────── ♡

Your watch is useless. You haven't checked it since you've been here. Your phone is in your clutch, out of sight and out of mind. Chan is your entertainment even without the cards, and you're the same for him. The others came back with drinks and the music seems to have gotten louder, the air warmer. 

The couch is reserved for the two of you now, inching closer and closer every twenty minutes or so until your leg is draped over his knee, elbows propped as you lean into his personal space. He invites you, encourages you. A hand resting over your calf, then your knee, then your thigh. And eyes on you.

“You live around here?” You ask, tracing shapes over your cheek as your palms support your chin, relaxed and engaged, trying not to be a sleepy drunk.

You've already covered the basics. Name, age, who you came here with, how you got here. You asked about the accent, it made him laugh. He asked about yours, you rolled your eyes. It made him laugh.

“I do not actually, not too far out, though. ‘Bout an hour away.” Chan answers, head tilted lazily. His cheeks are tinted, blood flowing now that he's a few beers in.

You smile, teasing. “‘Bout an hour away,” In your best imitation of his accent. He tries not to smile. 

“Troublemaker, huh?” 

“Me? No, nah. Not me.” You look away, innocent. 

“No?” He asks again, playing along, hand squeezing your thigh. His fingers pretend to scratch over your dress, but it's too soft and makes you aware of every point of contact between you two. 

You glance down at it, but not long enough to let him know it's getting to you. Shake your head once, voice lower than intended. “Mm, nope. Not me.”

“Hm.” Chan's eyes narrow, playful but mindful. He knows what he wants his prize to be. 

Another thirty minutes go by, your legs draped over his lap now. He closes the distance with a tentative hand hovering near your waist, still testing the waters. You share a laugh with him about something you both observed around you, the center of the party starting to fill out more than when you came in. The music is more lively, there's more people dancing, more people to mentally undress, more prospects to explore. But still, your entertainment is right next to you.

“In school, workin’?” Chan asks, babysitting a half drank cup of what the fuck ever. His eyes aren't glassy, not really. But you can see your reflection a bit more clearly in them than before.

“Both. Schedule’s full, but I manage to make time when I can.” You answer, hand playing with the ends of his hair absentmindedly. Twirling around your full set of French tips. 

“Baby's busy. That's nice.” 

“You?”

“Me? Just work, just me. Music stuff. Been at it for years.” He sips, finally. 

“Oh yeah? Gonna write a song for me?” You joke, fingertips grazing the nape of his neck. He shifts his shoulders, your touch unexpected. Sits up a bit straighter.

“Gotta give me some inspiration.” He looks amused, considering. “Wanna be my muse?”

“For a check?”

“Pump the breaks.” 

“Hm, I'll think about it, then.” You lift a brow and take his cup gently from his loose grip, take a sip for yourself. Chan watches you steal it from him with no objection, your lips curling around the rim and leaving a shimmery brown gloss stain as proof that it happened. He smirks, chuckles. He could get used to this.

“Okay then, princess.” The nickname was supposed to be an insult, but he says it like an affirmation. “She knows what she wants and just takes it, I see.”

“Nice guys finish last.” You wipe the corner of your lips and then hand him his cup back. 

He looks down at it, then back at you, then down again. Brings it to his lips right over the glossy remnants and takes a sip, then another. Maintains that eye contact, just to fuck with you. 

“Mhm, eyes on me.” You murmur, unfazed. Your voice scratches an itch for Chan, his gaze softens against his will. His plan backfired and now he has goosebumps. 

The time becomes a blur. Your hair is down now, hair tie around your wrist and your watch in your clutch because it's heavy and impractical now that even your eyelids are weighted. Chan is your chair now, and his lap is warmer than the couch. His hands are more than certain by this point, resting on your waist with the same one from before still on your thigh. 

You hear a song that reminds you that you came here with someone. “Shit, did I lose this bitch?” You mutter to yourself and look around. Every turn of your head is like smearing paint across a canvas, definitely looking at something but can't decipher what. 

Chan scoffs, looks around with you. Then taps your waist and points ahead, “Nah, she's fine.”

You follow his finger in the direction of your friend and his friend, dancing like they might as well be fucking. Her arm is reached around his neck from behind, hips on hips. He's leaned into her ear, or her neck. It's hard to tell, but they're both smiling.

“She's not gonna remember this.” You laugh, but somewhere in your chest, you're happy for her. 

“Hm. Neither will Hyunjin.” Chan laughs and watches the two with a tinge of surprise, but at the same time, it's Hyunjin. He likes having hands on him, even if he'll never admit it.

“A match made in heaven.” You shake your head, turning your attention back to Chan. You peek into his cup that's now become yours somehow, then into his eyes with a deceptively innocent grin. “There's no more.”

He smiles, thinks it's cute how you've adopted his cup as your own over the course of the night. His hand on your waist rubs along your side, a light touch. “Want me to fix that, don't you?”

“Would you?” 

He pats your waist, signalling for you to stand. You shift off of him instead, occupying the spot you abandoned earlier, and he stands. He doesn't leave, just looks down at you expectantly. 

You look back at him, head tilted and slowly blinking. 

He smiles wider, offers his hand to you. “C'mon, baby.”

“You're comin’ back, aren't you?” You play as if you're challenging him, arms crossed over your chest. 

“You think I’d leave my doll to sit on this couch alone? When she's already blinking like she's half asleep?” He leans down, calling out over the music. “C'mon, I'm not losing you. Not for a second.”

He offers his hand out again, a more serious and stern expression underneath the smirk. “Today, princess.”

You look him up and down, run your tongue over the front of your teeth trying not to smile. But you give in, of course you do. Your hand slides into his just like earlier, just a bit clammy now, but it's mutual so it's fine. 

Chan pulls you up and into him, hand returning to your waist to steady you. He looks down at your heels, then back up to your eyes. “Atta girl.”

Before you can change your mind, he's guiding you through the crowded space and over to the kitchen, one hand on your lower back and the other one holding yours. On the way over, you pass your friend and lock eyes. You share a glance that reads, “You good? I'm good. Okay, cool.”

She found fine shit, you found fine shit. All is well, you have your phone and she has money for an Uber if things go left. 

Chan makes a path through people, heading to the kitchen with you like he's a bodyguard. Glancing to the side to make sure you're still there despite him feeling your warmth under his hands. 

“Here we are, let's see what's here.” He says, stopping at the kitchen counter. It's the only place that isn't surrounded by people, the only space where you two can breathe for a second. He lifts up different bottles and actually reads the labels.

You grab a new cup, or start to before he grabs your wrist loosely and moves you away.

“Just tell me what you want, baby.” 

You pause and do a kegel.

“Oh, I'm fine. Was just trying to be helpful.” You retract your hand, fidgeting with your necklace instead. You didn't expect that.

“I got our cup right here. Just stay with me and take it easy.” He pours something into the cup. Brown, and not much of it. It must be strong. 

“Yes, sir.” You watch him move with that glint shining and a grateful grin, eyeing him with admiration. Your ankles cross, thighs pressed together.

“Good girl.” It slips out before he can stop himself. He's been calling you pet names all night, but they're starting to hit different now that you're both warm and light as a feather. 

You decide to find a quiet spot away from the center of the party, away from the thumping bass and bumping bodies. Chan suggests outside, but it's too chilly and you don't want to ruin the warmth of your buzz with the breeze. He hesitates, but ultimately suggests upstairs. He hasn't seen the second floor and neither have you. You decide to bring him on an adventure with you.

This time, you guide him on your path while he holds the cup, your fingers digging into his pulse point as you lead the way. He watches you, really watches you, and takes a small sip of your shared drink as you click up the stairs in front of him.

The second floor is breathtaking, still rustic but elegant with the dark wood and pops of creme, tan, and that neutral lighting that isn't too bright and isn't too dull. Just perfect.

“Left or right?” You ask, looking at the doors on either side of the hallway. 

“Uh, left?” Chan replies as if there's a right answer. 

“Bet.” You go into the last door down the hall on the left without hesitation. You gasp in awe, even the bedrooms are perfect. “This is so adorable!”

You let go of his hand, walking into the room like you own it. Chan notices your confidence, it's hard to miss. The door creaks a bit and he closes it behind him, leaning against the wall as you explore. “It is pretty nice here, huh?” 

The music is still loud, but muffled through the wooden floors and insulation. More manageable.

You two chat here for a while, sitting on the edge of the bed together until the energy from downstairs follows you here. It's like magnets trying not to attract but failing miserably. Both a giggling mess, his jacket comes off and so do your heels, sat neatly at the foot of the bed. Chan insisted.

“Feel better without those heels?” He laughs, kneeling up on the bed.

“Would feel better if I took them off two hours ago.” You lay down next to him, dress ridden up but ignoring it. The fabric is starting to feel too tight, you want it off anyway. 

“Baby girl's feet are sore, are they?” Chan scoots down, picking up one of your ankles. “I can help with that.”

“Can you now?” You giggle, propped up on your elbows to look down at him.

“Mhm. If you want.” His thumbs are already hovering over the sole of your foot. “That okay with you?”

“If it's okay with you.” Who are you to say no to a foot massage from a kind stranger?

“More than okay.” He takes your permission and nods, thumbs pressing into your aching feet with purpose. Working from the sides of your foot to the middle, down to the heel, then up to the ball of your foot. 

You watch him work, how focused he is. There's a comfortable silence, but you don't know why it's comfortable. You try to dissect the moment.

“You gettin’ off on this?” It's playful, but you can't help but wonder.

He shakes his head, smiling as his thumb slides from the arch of your foot up between your toes. “Just wanna make you feel good, angel.”

You lie back on the pillows, the plush minky duvet cover is your own personal cloud. The lighting isn't too harsh, dimly lit and casting a romantic shadow across the room, across Chan's jawline.

“Is this your thing? Card tricks and foot massages?” You prod at the moment some more.

Chan chuckles, “Nah, it's not. Not really.” He shifts to position himself at the end of the bed between your feet, facing you fully. “Just for you.” 

“Just for me?” You repeat, voice dropping into a teasing rumble that's just barely slurred.

“Just for my nine of hearts.” He sits your foot down and taps your other ankle, “Next foot, angel.”

You get a pang of something in your chest, excitement maybe. Your foot practically levitates into his hand. He chuckles again, softer. “Good girl.”

You swallow down and watch him, “Say that again.”

Chan glances up at you, his smile fading but not completely erased. His eyes search yours with a new depth to them. His prize is getting closer.

“Good girl.”

“Yeah?” Your restraint is slipping.

He licks his lips, nods slowly. “Mhm.” Then returns to his task with a huskier tone than before, his restraint clearly being tested, too. “So good for me.”

His hands work out knots and put pressure on all the right places, then he finishes with your feet and starts on your calves. He didn't mention going higher, but you don't stop him. Just watch him. 

“Tense?” He asks.

“Loose.” You answer, only one beat between his words and yours. 

“Good.” He moves up higher, fingers applying pressure up your legs and stopping at your thighs. He looks up at you, “This alright?”

“Go on.” It's impatient this time. He picks up on it immediately and grins. 

“Yes, ma'am.” 

“Good boy.” 

His eyes widen a bit, but not in disapproval. He stretches the side of his neck, head tilted to one side and his eyes on you. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips again. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You double down.

He takes a deep breath, hands warm on your skin and working to relax your pillowy thighs. His exhale is rough with growing need.

“Say it again.” He whispers. He figures he'll cut his losses if you don't hear him. But you do.

“Hm,” You giggle to yourself, reaching a hand down and threading your fingers through his hair. 

“Good boy.”

Chan blinks rapidly, clearing his senses to make room for you. Just you. He needs more of you.

“Good for you.” His hands trail up higher, bypassing your dress and pushing the fabric up as he explores your skin with barely contained hunger. “I'll be good for you.”

“Promise.” It's not a question, it's an order. 

“I promise.” He's leaning down, eyes on yours as he does. 

“Higher.” You say it just to see if he really does it.

Chan focuses on your body again, hiking the dress up higher over your hips and revealing your black thong. He can't help but admire you, his breathing more shallow with anticipation. 

“This is okay with you, right?” He makes sure, checks in before he indulges fully. 

You nod and hum, reaching down yourself and grazing your fingertips along the waist of your thong. “More than okay.”

He stops hesitating and takes your word, leaning down with one hand supporting him on the bed and the other holding your hip firmly. His lips press a kiss onto your stomach, right below your belly button, then another one under that. Peppering sweet, progressively sloppier kisses across your skin that makes you have to fight the urge to press your thighs together again.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” He mumbles, eyes fluttering closed. His thumb circles soothingly over your hip, a gentle massage there too. 

“Keep going.” You instruct gently, skin ignited wherever he lays his lips. 

Chan gets a chill along his spine and listens, a barely audible moan following. He's free to indulge now, not shy about making you feel good. His hand on your hip slides down to your thigh, inching closer to your core. 

The music downstairs isn't as upbeat now, but certainly isn't slow. It's a steady pulse of kicks and bass and compliments the moment like the stars compliment the moon. He kisses down, down, over the mound and closer to the gusset of your dampening thong. 

You watch him, hand still in his hair and combing through as silent encouragement. 

“Skin’s soft.” He mumbles again, hot breath ghosting over the dampness. “So pretty.”

“Havin’ fun?” You purr, provoking another moan from him.

Chan hums, kissing your lips through the fabric. His hand moves one leg aside, hooked under your knee and lifting it up over his shoulder. You follow through and rest your leg where he puts it, your relaxed heel now pressing into his back. 

“Push ‘em to the side, love.” You encourage him more outwardly this time, watching him make out with your clothed core.

“Mhm, thank you, baby.” He's hungry, focused. His fingers hook around the only obstacle left, tugging the soaked gusset aside and revealing his prize. He opens his eyes for this, your pretty cunt glistening with excitement just for him. His fingers spread you open, pointer and middle and a wide V to see all of you.

“Fuck…” Chan's hips buck softly into the bed. His tongue tastes you with one slow, long stripe from your hole to your clit, and he watches your reaction closely to commit it to memory.

Your legs don't threaten to close, instead spreading wider with your knees up to give him room to work. “Wanna make me feel good?” 

His lips wrap around your clit, humming his answer while his tongue circles the soft flesh with determination. He pulls back enough just to say, “I do.”

Chan is a man starved, his lips puckered and sucking with passion as if he's got something to prove. As if he wants you to be glad you spent all night with him and not someone else. As if to say thank you. 

“Use your tongue. Licks, baby.” Both of your hands reach down to tangle in his hair now, hips grinding slowly into his face. He listens and flicks your clit with his tongue, spit pooling down to your hole clenched around nothing. You buck and gasp quietly, then exhale a moan like a sigh of relief and laugh beneath it all. “Perfect.”

He works steadily, building up the speed and intensity over time with his eyes closed again, savoring your taste. He hums moans to himself, his hips rolling into the mattress and partially satisfying his own excitement.

You reach over to the nightstand and grab the cup you're sharing with him, taking a sip and feeling the warmth spread through your chest again. That combined with his hands planted on your waist pulling you down into his mouth makes you breathe a bit heavier, moan a bit clearer. 

Chan pulls back for a second, but not long before he rips a hand from your waist and spreads you open again. His thumb gently slides through your folds and gives him room to massage your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking faster just to see you shudder. 

“Sh– hmm…” your face tenses with pleasure, a soft nod that you know he's looking up at and your eyes drift closed. “That's nice.”

He smiles around your clit, the same pointer and middle fingers sliding effortlessly as they press into you up to the rings. You give him the shudder he was looking for. “Fuck… that's really nice.”

The sound that gushes from you is lewd in every sense of the word. Wet and soft, a squelch that alludes to how much you want this. Chan hums a chuckle around your clit, pulls back just enough to speak. “This all for me?” 

Your cheeks burn from alcohol and the smile you can't hide. “Shut up.” You whisper, flustered.

“Gladly.” He laughs and concedes, wanting to be good for you. He knows his affect by now, he doesn't need to remind you. 

His fingers drive into you with a steady rhythm, opening you up more and more with each thrust. The flicks of his tongue match that rhythm with precision.

After a while, Chan closes his eyes too, enjoying this more than he imagined he would. 

“Like that… that's my good boy.” 

He hears you moan for him and doubles his efforts, your praise acting as fuel for him. His fingers dig into you and search for that special spot, knuckles curled and rubbing the ridges that make you gasp louder. 

Your hips buck again, your back and shoulders tense and slightly arched. The ball of your foot digs into his spine, but it's nothing but his cue that he can't stop now. Not when your body is asking so nicely. 

“Chan, yes– oh god, yes.” You moan and it's raspy for a moment, the sharp inhales of pleasure drying out your throat. Your hips move on their own and grind into his fingers and mouth, chasing your peak with him.

“Mhmm,” he hums around you, his fingers driving into you with a hard thrust and staying in deep while he rubs the inside of your pussy with maddening precision. His tongue lays flat licks over your clit, alternating between that and shamelessly loud slurps that make you accidentally clutch his hair in your fists. 

You start to apologize, but Chan growls in response and grips your waist tighter with his free hand. The pain is good, means you're using him the way he likes. 

“I'm gonna come if you keep that up, baby.” It's not a threat, it's a heads up. He doesn't let up, not even to respond this time. His breath hits you, out through his nose with moans of his vibrating around your clit. Your trembling legs tell him everything he needs to know.

“Please,” Chan murmurs, pulling his fingers out before stuffing you again, faster and deeper with urgency. “Come for your good boy.”

You tighten around him, the squelching obscene. His tongue flicks your clit, pushing you further off the edge each time until your walls clench and spasm around his fingers. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Your knees want to close, but his free hand pins your leg firmly before you can try and run. His tongue works you through your climax, helping you come down nice and slow as his fingers finally stop. 

He pulls them out of you, pulls back to look at the mess he's made. “Tastes as good as it looks.” Chan's voice is husky and crude, deeper than when he started. He sits back, gently letting your leg down from his shoulder and kneeling between your legs. His fingers, still drenched in your arousal, slip between his lips, tongue sucking off the rest of you like he was saving your taste as a souvenir.

You're breathless and your hairline is damp, glad you put your hair down. Your hands fall to rest over the bunched up fabric in your midsection. “You're so good f’me, Chan.” You watch him climb up to you, hovering with arms caging you in.

“I can be even better, perfect for you. You want that?” He asks, hopeful. "Please?"

You nod, sticking your tongue out in a silent order that makes his cock jump in his jeans. His eyes are hooded with lust, tongue working to pool up the remnants of you before his tongue sticks out and drools it onto yours. 

Both of you moan in unison, the calm before the storm. You taste yourself and smile, eyes twinkling in the golden lights. Chan's thumb reaches up and cleans up the corners of your lips, saliva threatening to spill.

“Mm mm,” He mutters, pushing it back into your mouth with a soft smile, “Don't run. All yours.”

Your lips wrap around his thumb and suck, head bobbing like it was something else. His cock twitches and his free hand reaches down to free it. “Such a pretty little thing, sucking me so nice. Love your tongue…” he watches, sits back on his knees and unzips his jeans, pushes them down desperately with one hand.

He finally manages to get them down enough to free his twitching length, instantly fisting and stroking with assistance from his leaking tip. He lets out a low, yearning sound, a cross between a moan and a whimper. Your tongue twirls around his thumb and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine it around his cock. Too vividly. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He moans through gritted teeth. “Can I please be inside you, please, baby?” 

You pull off of his thumb slowly with a soft pop, a thin trail of spit still connected before it breaks and you look at the longing in his eyes and his furrowed brow. “You want that?”

“It's the only thing I want.” He admits, breath thick with anticipation that's boiling over and becoming unbearable. “Please? I'll be good. So good and make you feel amazing. Please?” 

“Promise?” It's gentler than before, but there's an undertone of something dark and dominant. Like if he's not, he'll be met with consequences. You slip your thong off, hips raised as it slides down your legs and gets kicked aside.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise, he nods damn near frantically. “I promise. I swear, princess. I fuckin' swear.”

You don't say anything, just reach a hand down and replace his with yours, stroking his cock with the same speed as he was. Your legs are spread again, knees higher and eyes commanding for him to hold them up. 

Chan notices your intense gaze and blinks quickly, acting fast and hooking both hands behind your thighs to push your legs up higher. “Yes, baby.” He whispers as he obeys. 

Your hips are tilted up and you're still clenching around nothing from your orgasm, but you glance down and line his cock up with your entrance before grabbing his hip and running your thumb over his skin to prompt him. 

“Yeah?” He looks down at your face before gripping the back of your thighs and sliding in, the feeling of you stretching around him making him grip tighter. “Fucking hell, thank you, angel.”

He pushes in and your head falls back, balling handfuls of Fendi as he bottoms out. He twitches and you clench back, call and response. 

“S’big.” You slur a moan as he reaches to press that spot he found before. Your hips tilt and adjust on their own, your body knows what it needs and how to get it. “Deep… fuck, you're deep.”

“I can go deeper.” Chan rasps, wanting to impress you. He knows how to get the most out of his length, anything for you. He pulls out about halfway, then pushes in carefully but certainly does get deeper. His grip on your thighs press your legs as high as they can comfortably go, and his hips press into you until it's nothing but skin on skin. 

You feel his abs tense under your touch, but you don't see it because your eyes are shut tightly, mouth agape. Chan is watching you like it's his sole mission to make you fall apart on his cock, like nothing else has ever mattered. He's too gone off beers and brown liquor for anything else to matter, the buzzing of the bass downstairs adding to the blur of warmth crawling up his skin.

“I can do it. I can make this pussy mine.” He whispers, pulling back and setting an easy pace to start with. The sound of your wetness around him isn't lost on you, in fact it's one of the only sounds you hone in on. Unlike Chan, you couldn't give two shits about the muffled snares and hi hats, you're focused on the imprint his cock is making in your stomach. Or at least that's what it feels like.

“Faster, Chan.” You command it, voice unwavering and eyes reopened, peering down at where you're connected. Your fistfuls of his shirt pull him in, motivation. 

He growls and obeys, faster but not wild. He composes himself because he knows better. “Like this, love?” 

“Faster.” You repeat, jaw tight. You're watching him thrust into you, monitoring like it's a job. 

“Faster?” He asks, knowing he'll have to keep himself in line. That'll be hard when he knows he'll want to come so badly. 

Your gaze meets his, sharp and impatient. “What did I say?” 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, then bites the corner of his lip and speeds up. The bed creaks a bit and the springs of the mattress sing in tune with the muffled music, but again, motivation. 

“Like this?”

“Harder.” 

“Fuck,” he grits, thrusting up with more force. You obviously want him to struggle, want to see him try and hold back just for you.

You see his efforts to restrain himself, to let you feel good first and lend his cock to you with selfless thrusts that reach places you can't. It makes you tighten with satisfaction. 

You smile, laughing between moans, “There he is, so good for me. You can do it, baby.”

Your praise is like a drug at this point, each hit only adds more fuel to the fire. He grunts and presses your knees back higher, hands holding you firmly in place with hips drilling into you incessantly. Skin slapping, breaths clashing. 

Chan buries himself in again with a snap of his hips and groans, head lowered as he grinds up into you. You grip his shirt tighter, if that was even possible, neck and face flushed in a deep drunken blush. He evokes a sound out of you that makes you bite your lip to hide it. 

“Goddamn,” he moans, panting and thrusting shallow to reach as deeply as he can. He isn't too loud, just enough for you to hear. “You're makin’ it hard f’me… this pussy’s makin' it hard f’me.” 

“Don't stop. Not until I tell you to.” You give him a clear request and it almost sounds sweet, but that underlying commanding tone rears its head again. “You hear me?”

Chan grunts with each breath, the vein protruding from the side of his neck and the ones down his forearms giving way to how hard he's trying not to come. “Easy on me.”

“Don’t wanna be my good boy anymore?” You threaten to rip the rug of praise right from under him and he whimpers. Breathy and needy, he whimpers.

“Fuck, no, don't say that–” 

“Don't stop until I tell you to, baby. Trust me.” Your hands reach up to hold his neck, pulling his face closer. Your noses brush and your eyes lock.

“Can you do that?”

Chan swallows down any further protest and nods, forehead damp against yours.

“Yes, yes I can…”

He proves it when he picks up the pace, thrusting into you with devotion and determination to get all the praise he can fuck out of you. He growls through moans ripping from his throat, muttering a string of curse words that make his furrow tense up with pleasure. 

You pull him closer and press your lips to his, a stark contrast to his increasingly erratic thrusts. His lips are warm and you taste remnants of yourself and whatever he was drinking earlier. Your tongue slips against his, moans crashing into each other freely while his fingers dig into your skin with a bruising grip. 

There's a slight bulge in the pit of your stomach that shows exactly just how far he's reaching, but you're both too busy muffling moans and tasting each other to notice. You can feel yourself floating up into that familiar feeling, your next release right around the corner. The moans that pour out of your mouth into his are climbing in pitch. 

“Chan,” you murmur against his mouth, tearing a hand from his neck to reach between you two and frantically flick your clit, chasing once again. “Don't stop, don't you fucking stop.”

“I got you, I got you.” His deep rumbling grunts reassure you, pace steady and headboard knocking against the pretty dark wood walls. “Give it to me, let me see it.”

You tighten around him more deliberately now, clit throbbing under your fingers. You're panting until a single rough breath staggers in your throat, a moan you couldn't muffle quickly enough erupting from your chest. You look up at him, eyes glazed over as you flood around his cock. “Don't stop.”

“I'm close.” Chan watches you come undone and can't hold back much longer. Your hand wraps around his throat, squeezing the sides. A warning.

“Don't.” You demand, eyes locked with his again. His are wide, skin hot with desire. He shakes his head, panting heavily. “Baby, please. Please, please let me– shit, let me come. Please, I'll do anything. Please.”

He's whimpering and grunting, cock twitching with restraint. Once you're done riding out the highs of your orgasm, you squeeze his neck tighter. “Pull out.”

“Fuck, wait, wait–”

“I got you.” You tell him before he starts begging again. “Trust me.”

“Mmm, fuck… fuck, okay,” Chan pulls out and reveals his cock, stiff and dripping, covered with you. You reach down between the two of you, using the hand around his neck to push him back a bit. 

“Legs down.” You instruct him to let you go, knees lowering back to the bed as he listens and lets you jerk him off. He stays right where he is, sitting back on his knees with his head thrown back.

“Mm, princess,” he moans, covering his mouth with his hand. You reach up and grab his wrist, eyes soft for him. “Let me hear it.” You insist.

“Can't hold back,” he stutters, letting his wrist fall slack in your grip until you let it go, steadying yourself with a hand on his hip. “Can I? Can I, baby?” 

“Can you what?” You ask, deceptively calm. 

“Can I be…” Chan pauses to hold it in, groaning with struggle. “Be good for you?” 

“Only if you say it.” You grin, stroking him faster. “Say you're my good boy.”

“Shit, shit… Mm, I'm your good boy, princess.” He grins too, gripping the soft bedding beneath him. “I'm your good fuckin' boy.”

“Come for me.”

His eyes shut tightly at the command he's been waiting for, hips bucking forward with a broken moan as he spills over your fist. “Thank you, thank you, fuck, so much…”

He's coming hard, sticky and warm over your knuckles. His chest is tight with pleasure, but it starts to burn when he's weak and twitching and you're still stroking him, pace unchanging.

“Fuck, wait.” Chan's eyes open again, the pleasure crawling up his spine and mingling with the chills spiking over his skin. “Wait, wait, wait.” 

“Say it again,” you smile, watching the realization set in for him that you're not done yet. “Say thank you for letting you come.”

He seethes a quick breath through gritted teeth, growling and reaching a hand up to hold on to his hair. “Baby, please–”

“Say it, Chan.” 

He can't deny that he likes being used, even like this. Anything to be your good boy. He whimpers again, a slutty sound that's so adorably desperate. “Mm, I'm… thank you, princess. Thank you for letting your good boy come. Feels good, so good. So, so good.”

“Finished now?” You coo, watching his face turn bright red.

“Yes, baby. I'm done.” He's polite despite the overwhelming pleasure, eyes glossed over with proof of his control.

Once you start to slow down, he lets out a breath he's been holding and starts relaxing fully, shoulders slumped and shaky elbows barely holding him up. He leans forward and one buckles, nearly falling into the bed before you press your palms to his shoulders and keep him upright. 

“Easy,” you rub his shoulders with a softer touch, coaxing him to calm down and lie back on the bed, pulling him down with you. “C'mere. Breathe.”

Chan follows you, kicking his jeans off completely and getting more comfortable with you. His shirt is wrinkled and so is your dress, bunched up right beneath your bust. He ignores it entirely, resting between your legs with his head on your chest. He's still moaning, still feels your fist pumping him with unrelenting speed. It's etched into his brain now. 

You wipe the cum he spilled onto your hand over your tongue, curious. “Mm, my good boy tastes… sweet?” You sound pleasantly surprised. 

“Thank you.” He breathes more evenly, still focused on remembering how to. The compliment doesn't fully register, but he knows to say thank you. 

“Love?” You say, wiping the rest on the bedding that you'll probably never see again after tonight. 

Chan looks up at you, using your chest as a pillow. He's dripping sweat and thoroughly flushed, less bright but still very red. “Hm, yes, angel?”

“Doin’ okay?” You're soft again, sweet and gentle. 

He nods, “I'm good, yeah. Catchin’ my breath.”

“Take your time.” The palm of your hand rubs his back, the other one brushing his hair back. The silvery blonde strands are detangled between your fingers, smoothed out and more manageable after all the pulling. 

Chan is grateful for the gentle ministrations, helps him calm down from that very steep high. You both take a moment to just be, inviting the sounds of the party downstairs back into your awareness. Distant chatter and persistent bass fill your senses and remind you that you just met Chan tonight for the first time. It doesn't feel like it to you, not after all of that. 

His breathing evens out nicely after a few minutes and his hands pull you closer, “You okay?” 

You smile, brushing his hair out of his face, “I'm okay.”

“Need anything? Blanket or somethin’?” 

“Not right now.” You glance over at the cup on the nightstand and decide to pass. You need water. 

“Alright… I got you.” He taps your waist.

“Mhm. Take it easy.” You pat his back, then pause. “Think there's a bathroom nearby?”

“I really fuckin' hope so.” 

You giggle, warm in your chest for a different reason now. “We'll find one. Gotta be somewhere close.”

Chan nods, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You press one to the top of his head.

“Good boy, Channie.” You whisper, scratching the top of his head.

❥Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

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“quiet, doll, don't wanna get caught” Hyunjin moves, shallow and slow, sinking deeper by the second. His fingers are splayed over your sides like he's framing them. “gotta be quick, locks broken

The lock is always broken but that's never stopped you before. You and Hyunjin never intended for things to end up this way. You were assigned to train him for a month, that's all. But he was easy, a fast learner, an expert at smudged eyeliner, and by the time you realized you two were heading for more than training, the lines got too blurry to go back.

Before you knew it, he was flipping your skirt up in a changing room, and now you're here, sneaking to the backroom for a fix when you're supposed to be restocking tees.

“can't keep quiet—shit—if you're in my fucking guts” he huffs a laugh, something too cute for the way he ruts into you.

Your tights are ruined, ripped up the middle in a hole far too inappropriate for the setting, his jeans are down just enough to free what you must admit is a generously sized cock.

The sound of skin on skin is faint; the squeeze is tight and that alone threatens to finish him before he truly gets to start.

“such a tiny cunt, I can barely fit.” his pace evens out, deeper now and fast enough to give your both away if anyone even started to open the door.

“fuckin wet, I bet you couldn't wait for this. you were counting down the seconds for me to drag you in here, weren't you?”

You manage a hum and push back against him, taking him all in the next thrust and it nearly ruins you both. Hyunjin bites his bottom lip, eyes rolling back just like yours. You press your open mouth to the back of your hand that's pressed to the wall, struggling not to make a sound.

“you want all of it that badly?” his voice is a rasp that he doesn't bother to clear. “show me you can take it.”

He doesn't have to tell you twice. You do it again, push back and meet him in the middle until he's buried to the hilt. His nails dig into the plush of your waist, hips pressed to the swell of your ass and he watches every damn movement.

He groans, tries to bite it back and fails, “that's how you make me fucking cum.” you do it again, and again and by the sixth time your moans start to climb in volume. Hyunjin slips his arm around you, staying inside and standing you up for a deeper feel.

It's paralyzing.

“nuh uh–deep too fuckin deep, I can't.” you gasp, you swear you feel the head of his cock pressing against your belly button. “hyun, so fucking–too fucking…” he grinds up before you get to finish. you yelp, like, actually squeak.

“cute.” his hand comes up and around to cover your mouth, the other grabs your hip. “let me hear that again.”

He goes at it. He's deep deep, pulling back and bullying himself back in like he's making room for every inch of him. Your legs shake, your mouth hangs open and wet against his palm. You're so gone. blissed out on the clock and not giving a fuck about it.

“you're soaking me to my balls.” you manage a moan that's drowned out by the sound he tries and fails to choke back. “you feel me twitchin’ for ya?”

You do, you feel every twitch and pulse of his cock and you know he's close, so fucking close. You are too, but you're too gone to say it. So you come undone in his arms, no warning, legs trembling and whimpers escaping the tight seal of his palm.

Hyunjin holds you up, presses your chest to the wall and pins your hips forward so that he's flush to you. you could cry at the feeling.

“that's my girl, feel good? needed that?” he picks up pace, slipping two fingers over your tongue to keep you quiet. “suck”

You do. God, you do. Like your life fucking depends on it cause you know your job does.

Hyunjin is panting, sweating, blonde and black hair stuck to his neck and perfectly smudged liner running and still looking perfect.

“oh fuck oh fuck, here I come, baby.” then he does, hot and heavy in your cunt until you're flooding. Hyunjin presses his forehead against your shoulder in an attempt to brace himself, trying to keep silent. It barely works.

“holy shit, you're full.” You can't answer, too busy coming down from your second orgasm, it snuck up on you but you can't tell when.

Hyunjin slips his fingers from between your lips and you huff a heavy breath. You're quiet, this is the part that takes focus, cause you're filled to the brim with him and you can't spill a drop.

His rule, not yours.

It's routine, slip your panties up and he pulls out nice and slow, then, you pull your panties in place and trap what you can snug in your cunt.

Once they're up, you turn around and nearly moan again. He's a mess. Liner running, hair a mess from where you've tugged it, lips a pretty pink just like his stubborn half-hard cock.

“good?” he asks, trying to tuck himself away, still sensitive.

You nod once, eyes flicking up to meet his, “good.”

Once Hyunjin is settled he turns his attention to you. Fixing your hair, tee, cleaning up your liner with a swipe of his thumb. When he gets to your skirt—tights ripped up the middle, fabric hiked up and twisted—he takes a second to feel the aftermath. He runs two fingers over the messy gusset of your panties, feeling the warm sticky weight for a second, just a second, then smooths down your skirt.

It's still quiet, he steps back, looks at you, and smiles, pretty and satisfied—for now.

Then it hits him, “we're closing, right?”

You smile back, your mind already wandering too far too fast, “yeah, we are.”

a/n - hyunjin posted on insta and i didn't sleep for this. it's 3:19am. I crawled out of my bed and turned on my computer to post this. boom, there you go <3.

also, to my sister @foxytoxxic who said "ima wake up to a hard thought" yes tf you are :))

black banners by @lariesographic <3

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You catch a glance halfway through the movie. Seungmin’s attention shifts when his body does, fixing his sweats like a little extra tug will hide the growing tent. You let it go cause at least he’s trying to hide it, Changbin isn’t even pretending. His hand is on your thigh, thumb smoothing small, lazy circles into your skin while his eyes are fixed on your chest like he's working through a math problem.

It’s tense, charged enough to snap and you can tell they’re getting close. 

“What is this movie about?” Seungmin says, low, looking over at the screen like he’s just broken out of a trance.

Changbin doesn’t look away from you. “Something about ghosts or maybe a clown.”

You snort softly, “It’s a rom-com, guys.”

“Ah” Seungmin’s gaze drifts back to your chest, focusing on the slight jiggle when you laugh.

You don’t even have to look, you can feel the attention. “Do you two need something?” You’re teasing but neither of them notice. Changbin’s hand slides higher on your thigh, you shift slightly, but you don’t stop him. It’s amazing watching your boyfriends turn into hungry mutts just from the sight of tits. 

“I could think of something.” Changbin murmurs, only sparing a glance up before his eyes settle back to your neckline. Then his hand shifts up, palm pressed flat against your tit, like igravity did it. Warm and possessive.

You blink, glancing down, and then another hand joins the party. No hesitation now. Seungmin and Changbin are both touching you, groping with the kind of calculated casualness that isn’t casual at all.

“Okay, seriously?” you murmur, sitting back just enough to look between them.

“Blame him, he knew I was gonna do it first.” Seungmin says, smug.

“Bullshit,” Changbin counters. “You just can’t stand not getting attention. She was leaning into me, not you.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, cutting them both off before it turns messy. “You’re fighting over my tits? Really? Are you horny teenagers?”

They both look at you. Neither denies it.

You roll your eyes, fingers curling around each of their wrists. “There are two of you. And two tits. Learn to share.” They don’t need more encouragement.

Seungmin takes your left, cupping it and thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric. Changbin’s on your right, slipping his hand underneath the cup just enough to be skin to skin.

“This isn’t what I meant.” Neither of them reply, they pretend to be interested in the movie now, both playing with your breasts to their hearts content. You try to ignore them. Try to keep your eyes on the movie, but your breath hitches when Changbin pinches, soft but just firm enough.

Your nipples harden naturally—and your panties are surely close to ruin. They go on like that for a minute or two until Seungmin leans in, slow, lips brushing your ear.

“How’s this for wanting attention?” he whispers.

You don’t have time to respond before he’s pulling the neckline of your dress down, just enough, and catching your nipple between his lips. Hot, wet, perfect pressure. You gasp.

Changbin barks out a laugh, but it’s sharp, not amused. “You’re such a damn showoff.”

Seungmin doesn’t even look at him, just keeps sucking—lazily, deeply—Changbin sucks his teeth when he sees the way your eyes flutter shut, then he’s on you too. Pushing the fabric of your dress down and closing his mouth over your other nipple. His hand cradles your breast, kneading the flesh while his tongue flicks.

“Fuck, guys, I—” Seungmin’s teeth graze you and your thighs press, your lips part but there are no more words. The movie is actually forgotten now, you can’t even hear it over the wet sounds and humming of your boyfriends.

“Who’s mouth do you like better, baby?” Changbin murmurs, voice muffled against your chest.

A beat barely passes before Seungmin speaks up, “And I’m the show off?”

“Both of you shut up, this isn’t a competition.” They hear you but it was as good as talking to the wall. Their mouths move with the purpose of winning whatever imaginary boyfriend award they’ve conjured into mind. 

Their tongues swirl and flick, lips suck and smack, barely there grunts and moans pass between them. Your own moans drown them out, hands in their hair and then gripping their shirts. 

Then things shift.

You don’t even know how it happens—maybe Changbin gets greedy, or Seungmin wants to prove a point—but suddenly, both their mouths are on the same tit.

At first, it’s a mess of tongues and breath, the halter top of your dress is untied and shoved down, your nipples are pebbled to their limit—flushed and glistening from all their attention. Seungmin’s tongue swirls around it lazily, just as Changbin leans in, lips brushing Seungmin’s in the process. Neither of them flinches. If anything, they get closer.

It’s not a competition anymore.

You watch through half-lidded eyes, head tipped back against the couch, as Seungmin drags his tongue across your nipple—slow, with his eyes closed—only for Changbin to chase it, licking across the same spot. Their tongues meet, a hot, slick press. Wet. Messy. Your nipple trapped between their mouths like a prize they’ve finally agreed to share.

Seungmin licks again. Changbin sucks.

Your breathing is uneven. Panties are soaked through and sticky. One of Changbin’s hands is still on your thigh, inching closer to where you’re throbbing. 

Then it gets worse—better—deeper. Changbin shifts, tilting his head just so, and suddenly their mouths are moving over each other, using your tit as the meeting point. One licks, the other sucks, then they both kiss over the swollen peak. Tongues brushing, saliva mixing, breath shared in soft little grunts that vibrate right into your chest.

“Jesus,” you whisper, watching them like it’s some forbidden x rated scene.

Seungmin glances up, eyes dark, lips shiny. “Is this how you wanted us to share?”

Changbin doesn’t even wait for your answer. He catches your nipple between his teeth, tugging just enough to make you cry out. Seungmin follows with a soothing lick over the same spot, then kisses Changbin, full-on now, right over your skin—tongue slipping into his mouth while their hands wander up to your waist.

You don’t even exist to them for a moment. You’re just something hot and moaning between them. The common denominator of desire so hot that their cocks are leaking and straining against their sweats. 

By the time they finally pull away, your chest is flushed, your nipples tingling and sensitive, your thighs pressed together in desperate friction. They look at you like you’re dessert and they haven’t even started.

a/n: I've had this sitting in my drafts for a minute. If you liked it let me know and maybe—just maybe—I'll finish my other SeungBin fic.

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